I let the orchids fall from my mind. Yet still they follow me and remind me of love. We hike the Post Creek trail and there to the left of the edge of the trail a small wonder catches my eye.

You slight orchids, how and why do I keep finding you? Flowers like swallows fly in place, hovering above the moss, quivering in the wind.

I plunge into the lake and the glacier-cold water makes me ache and shake. Beautiful green Lindeman Lake, and you come to share these things with me, perhaps with more amazement than I can express.

Thunder cracks above us and rain falls in huge droplets. We run down the logging road, but you let me stop to see the trilliums in their perfect spring-sprung ternary beauty. I want to lick the rain from the waxy flower's face.

Dusk falls and we've got a fire and a blue tent and beers, and it's good to be on the lake in April. It's good to be here in April.